you assist a poor but deserving citizen to retain the respect
of his chauffeur!"

"Go on, shoot it," says I.

"Don't be rash, young man," says he, "for the situation is desperate.
You see, Herman seems to think we ought to use the machine more than we
do. Just to please him we have been whirled through thousands of miles
of adjacent suburbs during the last week. Still Herman is unsatisfied.
Would it be asking too much if I requested you to let him take you out
for the afternoon?"

I gives him the grin. "Maybe I could stand it for this once," says I.

"Noble youth!" says he. "You deserve the iron cross. And should there be
perchance anyone who could be induced to share your self-sacrifice----"

The grin plays tag with my ears. "How'd you guess?" says I.

Uncle Kyrle winks and pikes off.

So about two-thirty P.M. I'm landed at a certain number on Madison-ave.
and runs jaunty up the front steps. I was hopin' Aunty would either be
out or takin' her after-dinner nap. But when it comes to forecastin' her
moves you got to figure on reverse English nine cases out of ten. And if
ever you want a picture of bad luck to hang up anywhere, get a portrait
of Aunty. Out? She's right on hand, as stiff and sour as a frozen dill
pickle. Her way of greetin' me cordial as I'm shown into the drawin'
room is by humping her eyebrows and passin' me the marble stare.

"Well, young man?" says she.

"Why," says I, "not so well as I was a couple of minutes--er--that it's
a fine, spiffy afternoon, ain't it?"

"Spiffy!" says she, drawin' in her breath menacin'.

"Vassarese for lovely," says I. "But I don't insist on the word. By the
way, is Miss Vee in?"

"She is," says Aunty. "This is not Friday evening, however."

"Ah, say!" says I. "Can't we suspend the rules and regulations for once?
You see, I got a machine outside that's a reg'lar--well, it's some car,
believe me!--and seein' how there couldn't be a slicker day for a spin,
I didn't know but what you'd let Vee off for an hour or so."

"Just you and Verona?" demands Aunty, stiffenin'.

It was some pill to swallow, but after a few uneasy throat wiggles I got
it down. "Unless," says I, "you--you'd like to go along too. You
wouldn't, would you?"

Aunty indulges in one of them tight-lipped smiles of hers that's about
as merry as a crack in a vinegar cruet. "How thoughtful of you!" says
she. "However, I am not fond of motoring."

I don't know whether someone punctured an air cushi